


In Blood and In Spirit

by Draconic_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: As seen by two jumped-up halfbloods, Gen, Harry Potter Changes His Name, Harry Potter is the Heir to the House of Potter, Harry has a friend before he goes to Hogwarts, Harry knows about the wizarding world before he goes to Hogwarts, Marius Black has a Wizard Grandson, Pre-Hogwarts, Said Grandson is the Heir to the House of Black, To Harivald, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24625750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconic_Dreams/pseuds/Draconic_Dreams
Summary: When Harry was eight years old, he met Mizar Black, the half-blood, son-of-a-squib, only male heir to an ancient pureblood house.Their friendship opens a new world for Harry that he never could have dreamed of. A world with its own culture and prejudice, tucked out of sight in the streets of muggle Britain.(Harry has knowledge and goals before going to Hogwarts)
Relationships: Friendship - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	1. A Chance Meeting

Harry Potter was not an ordinary boy, however much he wanted to be. He was too skinny, a fact only emphasised by the too-big clothes that hung sadly off his frame. He wore an ugly, cheap pair of glasses, wrapped awkwardly in sellotape.

He was staring in dismay at the book Mrs Fraser had lent him for the weekend. Ripped sheets of paper lay scattered across the playground, and the cover was bent. He should have known Dudley would destroy it. He should have hidden it better. 

With a deep, biting sense of unfairness, Harry gathered up the torn pages and slipped them in between the covers. Maybe he could tape them back together somehow? Mrs Fraser was so kind, she'd trusted him to take care of a class book. He couldn't face walking in on Monday and handing back this… ruin. 

Apparently the book agreed with him, because when he picked it up, it became sleeker in his hands, losing the puffiness of the hastily-replaced pages. In fact, when Harry opened it, each page was as good as new, even the cover was back in place. He flipped through the now crisp pages. Mrs Fraser would be happy. Aunt Petunia — he hid a wince — would not. Quickly he scanned the park for witnesses. Most of the kids had left when Dudley's gang showed up but one boy, about his age, had stayed. His eyes were dark, but the light picked out hints of amber and gold in their depths. Harry knew this because those eyes were now watching him intently.

“So.” The boy said, after they had locked eyes too long to be comfortable. “You're a wizard.”

Harry's eyes flicked to the mended book, and back to the boy. “Don't be silly. School books are just… durable”

“Durable enough to mend themselves? If muggles could do that, it would be in the military, not in a primary school.”

“...muggles?” 

“Muggles” repeated the boy, who was now seated imperiously on the lower rung of a climbing frame. “Your parents don't have magic like you, I assume. Otherwise you wouldn't be so surprised”

"My parents are dead," Harry responded bluntly.

The boy stood, and much to Harry's surprise, _bowed_. “Then I apologise for bringing up bad memories. Mizar Black” He held out a hand, and Harry realised with a start he was supposed to reciprocate.

“Harry Potter”

There was the briefest of pauses, before Mizar said “ —Ah.”

  
  


“So you're saying I'm famous?” Harry asked, grounding himself in the question of whether Mizar's hair was light brown or dark blond. It all seemed a bit much. Harry was a wizard, and not a muggleborn wizard like Mizar had assumed, but the heir to a decently powerful house, born into a magical family, then hidden in the muggle world to escape a war.

“Dark Lord V died attacking your family. As the only survivor, you became the symbol of his demise. Some people believe you killed him yourself of course, but that doesn't scan. If accidental magic could deflect the Killing Curse, it would have happened before, at least once in all of history. Grandfather thinks there was an experimental potion involved. The Potter family are known for their potions”

They hadn't died in a car crash. They'd died facing the magical equivalent of the IRA. That alone turned his world upside-down. Harry reached up to touch his scar. Was that magic too? so many questions he couldn't quite find the words for spun through his head, so he went for the simplest.

“Your grandfather, is he a wizard too?”

From Mizar's expression, that was not a simple question at all.

“My actual Grandpa's a squib, that means he's from a magical bloodline but doesn't have powers. Grand _father_ is his cousin. He is a wizard, and the head of our house, and because I'm his only heir who isn't dead or in Azkaban, he adopted me as his grandson” Mizar grinned suddenly, losing his almost royal composure for a moment.

“If there was a pureblood heir left, he wouldn't look twice at a half-blood son of a squib like me, except to put me in my place. But there isn't, so it turns out _Toujours Pur_ has a meaning a little more complex than ‘bed your cousins wherever possible’” Mizar smirked, and so did Harry when he realised what had just been said. 

“And you're in the same position as me.” Mizar said, when they'd stopped giggling at each other. “Half-blood heir to an ancient pureblood house. Raised with muggles even more than I was. We have the experience of what's needed, and the power to change things. The world that was so hostile to our mothers doesn't have to stay that way”

Harry swallowed. He didn't know what half of those words meant, but it sounded like Aunt Petunia yelling _Freak_ , it sounded like the disdainful sniff every time the topic of his parents couldn't be avoided, it sounded like Aunt Marge discussing _breeding_.

“I'll help you.” He said, feeling like for the first time in his life he had a goal beyond avoiding the Dursleys' rage. “If my mother helped defeat this V. person, then me being alive proves that muggleborns are powerful. And you said I'm famous for being alive”

That part still didn't make much sense. His parents were brave and strong and clever, and he was famous for being their son. He rubbed his scar again, self-consciously. It was better than being the son of two unemployed drunks.

Harry smiled awkwardly. It was too soon to call Mizar a _friend_ , but they were at least working together. It felt nice, even though — 

“I'll be late for my chores, I have to go”

He scrambled up frantically, almost losing his glasses in the process. He almost forgot the now fixed book, until Mizar shoved it into his hands.

“I'll write to Grandfather, but he's rather traditional. What's your full name?”

“Harry Potter?” That didn't seem sufficient, and Harry began to worry he'd lose his almost-friend already.

“And what's Harry short for?” 

Harry stared back blankly. Mizar looked just as confused.

“You can't be just Harry, not if anyone's going to respect you. That's like everyone and their uncle calling me Mize. It's not done”

“I'm sorry…”

Mizar shook his head, cutting off the attempted apology. “You don't know anything yet, that's not your fault. Tell me when you find out, okay? I can ask Grandfather to rename you in magic if we have to, but I don't know how he'll react to that”

Harry felt a little insulted at that. It wasn't as if he knew nothing at all! except, he didn't know he was magic, or his own full name. Maybe he did look stupid next to someone like Mizar, who knew everything about being a wizard already.

“I'll look” he promised, not knowing how to even begin. “But I'm going to be really late. Bye Mizar!” 

Harry ran off, leaving the dark-eyed, light-haired, _wizard_ behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family tree:  
> Disowned Marius Black marries a muggle (Sarah Emily Holland)  
> They have two children: Katharine Selena and Marcus Sagittarius  
> Katharine is currently in Germany and unless the fic goes there her family is unlikely to be important (it might. I don't have a plan)  
> Marcus marries Azalea Parkinson (also a squib) and they have Michael Aries Black. After he creates light by accidental magic, he is re-named Mizar Apollo Black, an incident he barely remembers.   
> Lord Black tracks down the only male-line descendant of House Black who isn't dead or as good as, and in the process rethinks blood prejudice just a little bit.


	2. The Disgraced and Most Impure House of Black

Number 4, Privet Drive was just the same as usual. Uncle Vernon dragged him to the kitchen by the ear, where Aunt Petunia yelled at him for being late and threw a mop at his head with instructions to clean hard if he expected any dinner.

But Harry, mopping, was in another world. Magic was real. He was magical. He and Mizar were the heirs of two powerful houses and they were going to change the world together.

He didn't clean to Aunt Petunia's standards, and went to his cupboard with no dinner. Harry spent that night staring at the spiders, and wondering where he could find his full name. It wasn't a big task, but it was all his own, and he wouldn't fail.

Sunday, Harry worked. As punishment for staying out late on Saturday, he was forbidden to leave the house and given an unending list of chores to complete. He did, however, manage to get in a question to Aunt Petunia while she watched him cook.

“Birth certificate? You don't have one. The freaks clearly didn't believe in registering a child properly”

So much for that, but Harry wouldn't give up so easily. The next day, when he gave the undamaged book back to Mrs Fraser, he tried again.

“Do you know what Harry might be a nickname for?”

Mrs Fraser smiled, and Harry was suddenly very glad his magic had been able to fix the book. “Normally it's short for Harold, or Henry. Do you want a book on names?”

“Yes please!” he said, not managing in the slightest to hide his eagerness. If his real name was lost, he'd have to choose a new one. Something fantastical, like _Mizar_. Something fitting for a wizard.

School went slowly. Dudley picked on him, and made it look like his fault. His glasses broke, again. Aunt Petunia hadn't sent him with any lunch money, so he endured the embarrassment of queuing with a teacher for a serving of bread and tomato sauce with no pudding.

Every moment he had free, Harry flipped through the dictionary of names. Henry and Harold were in there, so was Hereward, Hartley, Harvey, and Hadrianus.

His father's name, James, had been used by kings, so next Harry searched through history books, where he read about Harold II Godwinson, and Harald Hardrada and Henry the Eighth with his six wives. He didn't think he wanted to be a Henry after that. The pictures reminded him of Uncle Vernon.

By the next Saturday, Harry had researched his name with a single-minded intensity, and he met with Mizar knowing exactly what he wanted.

  
  


“Harivald James Potter” Mizar repeated, with a bow “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Mizar Apollo Black”

This, Harry thought, is how real wizards speak to each other. With that thought, though, he became painfully aware of his appearance. He tried to straighten his glasses, but only succeeded in making one end sag out of the sellotape and pinch his nose.

“I still look more like a Harry than a Harivald,” he complained.

“Why?” asked Mizar, whether curious or teasing Harry couldn't tell “What does  _ Harivald _ look like?”

“Harivald looks like…” he scuffed the toe of his already-scuffed shoes against the ground, “Harivald looks like someone you could introduce to your Grandfather as a friend”

Mizar's eyes flickered across Harry's ill-fitting hand-me-downs and he nodded understandingly. “I'll study tailoring charms. Blacks have their clothes custom-made, of course, but if you don't have access to your vault, there are ways to make do.”

Harry nodded, wondering if any amount of magic could make Dudley's old clothes look okay. He'd never look like a little lord, the way Mizar did so effortlessly, but maybe he could manage something that stood out a little less.

“We'll have to practise in a warded Black property. Wanded magic is a different shape from accidental, we might set off the Trace. Come on, Harivald”

“Wait — ” Harry found himself being tugged gently but insistently by one baggy sleeve down a quiet side road before he could quite get the words out. “Where are we going?”

“My house. Knight bus. Don't worry, I'll pay”

“But what about —”

“ —  _ and _ , I'll ask Grandpa to drive you home. He can explain to whoever you live with that the clothes maketh the man”

Harry couldn't imagine that going well, but he held his tongue. He really did want to look like a proper wizard.

Mizar must have taken this as assent, because with a pop, a bright purple triple-decker bus appeared in the street. The door opened.

“Good morning, and welcome to the Knight bus. My name is Earnest Prang, and —”

“Two children for Highgate please, Mr Prang” Mizar interrupted gracefully, “keep the change” He handed over a single gold coin, which the man in the conductor's uniform bit, before letting them aboard.

The Knight Bus was Harry's first real introduction to magic, and it shocked him speechless. This was far from a normal bus. The upper layers were balconies, looking out on a giant chandelier that hung down the centre and lit the ground floor. To reach them was a slim spiral staircase with scrolled brass handrails that Mizar was currently running up, oblivious to Harry's wonder. The velvet upholstered chairs, he noted with a small amount of worry, didn't seem to be attached to anything. Could magic busses crash?

“Harivald! don't you want to ride on the top deck?”

That was Mizar, now leaning over the first floor balcony to shout to him. A… someone grumbled at him for quiet from inside their hat.

“Coming!” He called back hastily, triggering a new round of grumbles. Just as Harry grabbed the stair rail, the bus set off with a loud bang, and several chairs slid across the deck. Mizar acted like nothing was wrong with any of this, so Harry gripped the rail a little tighter and made his way up.

Once he got over the fear of crashing (The bus seemed incapable of it, as anything it came close to hitting simply jumped out of the way) riding the Knight Bus was actually quite fun. Harry was never allowed to ride rollercoasters, but he thought that if he did, it might be a little like this. Knowing the Dursleys would disapprove of what he was doing made him determined to enjoy it, even if he was starting to get travelsick by the time, several pops and bangs later, the conductor called “Highgate, London!”

Stumbling off the bus into fresh air, Harry thought it was time he acted like he knew what he was doing.

“Can you hide a wizard house in the middle of London?”

Mizar considered this “You don't hide a wizard house, you enchant a muggle house. So you don't need to hide it. We live just up this hill”

Harry was privately a little disappointed that he wasn't going to walk into a pocket dimension with its own wizard tower, but it did sound more reasonable. The house wasn't far, but the hill was steep, so there wasn't much breath left for chatting, even if he could think what to chat about.

Number seventeen, Lookout Lane, was a house much like the houses either side, but as Harry walked up the front path he felt a tingle run along his back, and suddenly the plants growing along the drive looked unlike any plants he had ever seen.

While he had been distracted, the door was opened by a lady with brown skin and a bindi, who looked friendly and colourful and like no one the Dursleys would approve of.

“Mize darling, you're home early, is everything alright?”

“No, Aunt Mitra, everything's fine, you go back to tea with Mother, I don't want to interrupt you. Is Grandpa in?”

“I think he's in his study, Oh! you brought a friend”

Harry suddenly found himself the centre of attention. He shifted on his feet. “Good Morning, Mizar's Aunt”

“Call me Sumitra, dear.” She looked between the two of them and clearly came to some conclusion. “Azalea and I will be in the sitting room, you two go on and discuss your secrets.” She waved a hand upstairs and left them both by the door.

“That's my Aunt Mitra. She knows about magic, but she doesn't  _ know _ , exactly, because of the statute. Mother's afraid that if we say too much she'll be obliviated.”

“Statute?” Harry asked, as they climbed the stairs. He felt like all he did was ask questions about things he should already know.

“Statute of Secrecy. It's the law for staying hidden from muggles”

“That makes sense.” He'd guessed the magic world stayed hidden deliberately. Of course there was a law about it. “Who makes the magic laws?”

“There's the Ministry of Magic, and the Wizengamot, but I haven't been tutored much on how they work yet. Grandfather knows”

Mizar knocked on the study door, and his Grandpa (The non-strict one, Harry hoped) opened it.

“Mizar,” He said, “and…”

“Harivald Potter, sir”

Mizar's grandfather raised an aristocratic eyebrow at him. “Marius Black. A Potter, you say?”

“He's Heir Potter, but he's not being raised to it, so I thought he could come round and learn a bit from my assignments, maybe borrow some clothes since he doesn't have access to his vault and he can hardly walk anywhere he'll be recognised dressed like that. We're going to learn tailoring charms too, of course, but those rags are past charming”

“They're not rags!” Harry said, before he could stop himself.

“Mister Potter.” said Marius, with an air that made him unconsciously stand up straight, like he'd been sent to see the headmaster. “The clothes you are currently wearing can only be considered such by the loosest definition, that is, they are fabric which covers your body. I implore you to take Mizar's offer, especially if you intend to be seen in public with him.”

“Being poor is nothing to be ashamed of,” Mizar chimed in, “But this isn't just second-hand clothing, it's… well.”

Harry shrunk in on himself listening.

“I know.” he said quietly, not sure he'd even be heard.

“Harivald.” Marius sounded gentle this time, enough that Harry could bring himself to look up. “This is not your fault. I will speak to your relatives this evening, and see if we can't come to some arrangement.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Mizar, take Harivald to your room. I'm sure the clothes you're on the verge of outgrowing will fit him just fine”

Mizar's room was only a short walk along the corridor, but it gave Harry plenty of time to stew. He knew he looked terrible. Everyone at school knew it. Dudley delighted in it. So why did it matter so much to him  _ now _ ?

Mizar's room was perfect, of course. There was a big bed with a dragon duvet, and a banner with what looked like a coat of arms hanging on one wall.

The posters moved, and the desk had a quill waiting in an inkwell next to rolls of what didn't look like paper at all.

“Harivald. I'm sorry.”

Harry stared at him. People didn't apologise to the orphan in baggy discoloured clothes. Especially not people with houses in Islington and their own family crests. 

“I’ve bungled this a bit, insulting you in front of Grandpa and all. I'm acting like your tutor when I'm supposed to be an equal. A friend”

A lump formed in Harry's throat. He swallowed it, and spoke shakily. 

“I want to be friends”

“Then you'll call me Mize, right? at least in private”

“...you should probably call me Harry, then”

The boys looked at one another in something like understanding. They were friends now, with all that means to an eight-year-old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harivald and Mizar, known to close friends and Harry and Mize.  
> I don't know how much Mizar's family will be in this fic.
> 
> Fun fact: The official point of divergence in this timeline is when Sumitra Choudhury befriended the newly disowned squib Azalea Parkinson. Without her influence Mizar's parents would never have met and he would not have been born to befriend Harry. Give Aunt Mitra some love (or blame her, if everything crashes and burns, I suppose)


	3. The Smallest Bedroom

That evening Harry returned to Privet Drive in the back seat of the Blacks’ car. Mize sat beside him, talking about magical theory using quidditch metaphors which wasn't useful to Harry in the slightest, but felt companionable.

Beside him was a large bag of clothes, and a smaller dragonskin stationery set for writing to Mize. At least the quills were self-sharpening. Uncle Vernon would have a fit if he brought home a knife.

Harry still wasn't sure he'd be allowed to keep any of this, but for now he allowed himself to daydream.

The Dursleys must have seen the car draw up, because they opened the door on the first knock.

“Go to your room, Harry,” Aunt Petunia said sharply.

He started down the hall to his cupboard, but she blocked the way.

“You heard your Aunt.” Snapped Uncle Vernon, sounding almost… afraid? “Upstairs, Boy!”

Harry walked upstairs as quickly as possible, grateful for a reprieve. 

Through the bannisters, he saw Mizar sent out to wait in the car. Then the talking began.

Unfortunately, being that much further from the kitchen, Harry didn't hear much besides his uncle calling him a ‘no-good hooligan’, but when Marius stalked out, he looked triumphant. Harry crushed down any hope he'd actually won the argument. That would be too many good things for one day.

“Boy! Get down here now!”

Harry scrambled down to the kitchen, heart racing. His aunt and uncle stood there, not quite hiding their shaken looks.

“Your Aunt and I have been thinking,” Uncle Vernon began, pacing up and down in front of the countertop, “you're getting rather big for that cupboard of yours. No, I don't want any arguments,” he held up a beefy hand as though he somehow expected Harry to disagree, “It's all well and good playing at caves when you're a small child, but you're eight now, you really should be staying in a proper bedroom. Move all your stuff up there tonight”

Harry gaped. Having his own bedroom didn't sound like a punishment, whatever Uncle Vernon said.

“Chop Chop!” Aunt Petunia chivvied, when he didn't move for another moment. “I need to set the table. You already had dinner with the Blacks’, but Dudders will be getting hungry”

Going without dinner was a much more normal punishment (of course he hadn't eaten at the Blacks’, it was barely five o'clock and they'd had to drive from Islington). But Harry was still in a daze.

“Uh… which room?” 

“Dudley's junk room” Vernon grunted, seemingly done with the conversation. “You'll keep it tidy, or else.”

Harry bundled his new clothes upstairs before anyone could say it was a bad joke.

There wasn't much in his cupboard, besides his bedding, but he scraped his few possessions into a shoebox anyway. Maybe he'd be able to scavenge some of Dudley's old toys while he was tidying too.

This room, filled with broken things and cheap, shaky furniture that existed more to fill space than be used, would become the room of Harivald son of James, Heir to House Potter.

He wasn't tired, so Harry started on this mammoth task.

His ‘new’ clothes took pride of place in the wardrobe, including the two sets of wizarding robes. His stationery set, placed on top of the rickety desk, made it look at least used. The bag of owl treats he hung by the window in anticipation of a letter-bearing owl, concealed behind the folds of a curtain. He arranged his salvaged toys on a shelf, spread his blanket at the foot of the bed (it was too small to go anywhere else) then turned his attention to Dudley's reject pile. The paint sets only had a few colours missing each, so Harry stacked what remained aside to make a full set of his own. A number of books had been thrown aside not because there was anything wrong with them, but because Dudley hated to read. Harry skimmed the blurbs and ended up keeping all the chapter books on a stack on his desk. Some picture books he stacked neatly in a pile to have their most beautiful pictures cut out before they were recycled. The baby books went in a pile by the door, and were soon joined by all the broken electronic toys. None of the playing card sets were complete, and unlike the paints Harry couldn't doctor himself a full deck because of the different-patterned backs. He didn't know what he'd play with them anyway. That took care of most of the pile, and revealed some obvious baby toys: a shape sorter, some obnoxiously bright animals, even something that looked like a rattle. He was above playing with any of those, so they went into the rubbish pile. The Rubix cube, much like the books, was discarded out of boredom rather than dysfunction, so it sat on his desk until he could learn how to un-jumble it.

Anything completely destroyed was swept into the plastic bag his clothes had come in, and soon followed by other parts of the rubbish pile he thought belonged in the regular bin (Harry was pretty sure old books went in the recycling, and electric things needed special bins so they wouldn't explode).

The toys that were only a little broken he lined up against the wall. Despite the name, Mizar seemed to have some control over his accidental magic, so Harivald would have to do the same. He'd fixed a whole book before, so re-attaching an arm to an action figure shouldn't be too hard. Tonight though, as he looked around the clear-er room, Harry found himself suddenly exhausted.

He retreated to his new bed cautiously, half afraid that if he fell asleep, he'd wake to find it was all a dream. Lumpy as it was though, the mattress was much softer than the floor of the cupboard, and Harry quickly found himself lost to the waking world.

  
  


The next morning, Harry awoke early, unused to morning light filtering through the curtains. He was still in Dudley's second bedroom — now his. The stationery case on his desk was still made of dragonhide, and — he slipped out of bed to check it — still contained two self-sharpening quills and a no-spill inkwell.

The clothes from Mizar still hung in his wardrobe, so Harry dressed in green cords and a grey polo shirt. They fit him passably, and for a moment Harry was seized by panic. He wanted to slink away in baggy nondescript rags.

_ You are Harivald James Potter. When you come of age you will be Head of your household. Your parents died protecting you and you want to make them proud. _

The thought steadied him. He deserved to dress well in his own clothes, didn't he? Harry felt himself begin to settle down, just enough that he remembered the emotional component to accidental magic. Taking hold of the fear he felt, Harry aimed it directly at the nearest broken toy.

The figure collapsed into a perfect sphere. Harry took a step closer, almost not daring to touch it. It was the same colour and size and the toy it had come from, but undeniably it had gone from a plastic tiger to an orange striped ball. Harry tossed it in the air and caught it, feeling indescribably happy when it landed solid in his hands. It hadn't been fixed exactly, but he'd changed it, deliberately. By magic.

Aunt Petunia rapped on his door to cook breakfast. Some things never change, but Harry had. He was going to be a powerful wizard, inherit the Potter fortune and move into a house of his own far away from the Dursleys. With this knowledge, the chores ahead of him felt lighter. Three years until Hogwarts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry has his own room ahead of schedule. Marius may not have magic, but he's still a Black, and he can swing a thing or two to his favour.
> 
> Controlling accidental magic: It's clearly possible, since Lily Evans is seen doing it. Tom Riddle is noted as unusual for the way you uses magic towards clear overarching goals, not for experimenting with it.  
> This will not become a gateway to precocious wandless magic. I have a soft theory that everyone's magic has something it prefers to do, and does by default when under stress. This type of magic is the easiest for a wix to grasp and control wandlessly. Harry's canonical feats include shrinking an object, vanishing an object, and turning an object blue. This, alongside his father's noted talent for transfiguration, leads me to believe his magic defaults to altering objects,so that's what we will see him doing.  
> (Mizar's magic makes light, hence the middle name Apollo.)


	4. Naming and Quidditch

Harry's three years passed slower than he would have liked, but faster than they might have done had he never met the Blacks. It was incredible what a difference his clothes made to his teachers' opinions of him. Suddenly they were willing to let him stay inside reading rather than face Dudley's gang in the playground. Not every day, because apparently ‘growing boys need exercise’ but it was a good option to keep for a day when he was too tired or bruised to take more. Unfortunately, none of the teachers could be convinced to call him Harivald in class, but bright and early on a February morning, he dressed in his newest wizard's robe and met with Arcturus Black for the first time to carry out a Naming Ritual. 

Arcturus was nothing like Marius. They had the same bearing that Harivald still couldn't quite emulate, but the meaning of it was far different. Marius was quiet and self-assured, while Lord Arcturus… 

He met Harivald out of the floo with an air of power and control and carefully-restrained danger. Harry looked for Mizar, only to find his friend standing the exact same way. Two pairs of dark eyes followed him, unyielding.Weeks of etiquette lessons with Marius kicked in— _Now you bow, to the Head of a Noble House_ — and Harivald bowed on muscle memory, hitting the perfect angle and hand positioning.

“Lord Black”

“Heir Potter”

He wasn't cursed, or flung back into the fire, so Harry hoped his greeting had been acceptable.

Apparently it was, because Lord Black continued to speak.

“Mizar tells me that due to the unfortunate circumstances surrounding your early life, you were never formally named in magic.”

Harry was so focused on his posture, he almost didn't realise he was meant to reply.

“That's right, sir. My family called me Harry, but no one alive seems to know what they intended for my true name”

“You chose Harivald. A warrior's name.”

Without waiting for an answer, Lord Black turned and began to stride out of the entrance hall where the floo connected. “The ritual will take place in the courtyard. Explain to me the importance of the date while we go”

“The beginnings of February, May, August, and November are points of balance and transition throughout the year. They mark the point when each season peaks before changing to the next, and an increase in the connection of Wix to the heart of magic.” Harivald gathered his thoughts, then added, “to some traditions, these days have religious significance.”

“Keeping up with your studies, I see. Good.” 

And with that, Lord Black led them out into the courtyard of Black Manor.

Clearly, this was a place often used to perform rituals. Great stone bowls, the nearest of which was filled with salt, stood in the cloister alongside crystals the size of heads. The courtyard itself was a flat plane of black marble, with a wide circle etched deeply into the centre.

“I trust you've studied the ritual?”

“I have, sir”

Harivald took the offered silver knife, and walked into the ritual circle.

The ritual really was a simple one. It required a small amount of blood in each cardinal direction to ‘introduce’ his magical essence to the four elemental spirits of magic. Then, he simply stood in the center of the circle and recited three times _My Name is Harivald James Potter_ , and it was done.

The most difficult part, and the reason he and Mizar could not have performed the ritual alone, was keeping your Name from being stolen while you recited it, which was why the courtyard had been full of complex ritual wards erected by Lord Black.

The aftermath of the ritual was annoyingly uneventful. No manifestations appeared chanting his name, no swirls of magic coursed through him. Lord Black healed his cut with a quick _episkey_ , and gave a nod Harivald hoped was approving.

Far away in the wilds of Scotland, an enchanted quill corrected an entry to a book.

Following the important but nevertheless disappointing occasion, the boys were dismissed to their own devices, which of course meant flying.

Unfortunately, as Mize explained on the way down to the broomshed, the manor had nothing flashier than seven well-kept Nimbus 1500s

“The family started dying out not long after that, and new brooms weren't exactly a priority, but Grandfather said I can have one when I go to Hogwarts”

Harry, who had been wanting a chance to fly since he knew magic existed, didn't mind at all. They laid out the brooms on the ground to summon them properly, which Mizar was convinced made the flying sessions smoother. Harry's broom leapt straight into his hand, which he took as a good sign for what was to come.

And then, they flew. Harry gave a shout of joy as the wind rushed through his hair. He circled the grounds, looped-the-loop, and dived as deep as he dared before pulling up, flushed.

Mize drifted closer, grinning. “Race you”

“Where to?” Harry shouted back instantly.

“You see that walk, with the birches? we each take one side and weave through the trees.”

The silver boughs beckoned. Harry nodded “You're on”

The trees were closer together than they looked, and it was less of a race than it was a mad scramble to not hit anything,but Harry was determined, his broom was in agreement, and he came out from under the branches only a few feet behind Mize, who spun to a stop and hovered, looking back at him. 

“You're faster than my first run down the avenue. Of course, now I know what my competition is…”

“I'll still beat you.” 

“If you say so” Mize somehow managed to lounge even on a broomstick several feet in the air.

Harry just shook his head. “Do you have a quaffle?”

“Better. Practice bludgers” Mize took off for the broomshed, Harry on his tail.

Bludgers were clearly Mize's favourite and he outclassed Harry by yards, somehow predicting their wild trajectories and positioning himself accordingly to send a volley of cushioning-charm-clad balls at Harry's face.

“Well, I know what position I won't be playing,” he joked, as they wrestled the bludgers back into their crate.

“You're more of a seeker, maybe keeper,” Mize said thoughtfully. “If we were just catching those bludgers, you might've won”

“Any idiot can catch a bludger”

“With their nose maybe”

That left the boys laughing, and considering the skill level required to be hit by a bludger in various body parts.

This lively debate lasted into the Little Dining Room, where the Sessie the house-elf served lunch for the two boys.

Harry ate deliberately slowly. Missing meals so often at the Dursleys’, he'd discovered, made it hard for him to eat quite as much as he wanted when it was in front of him. After a trip to the bathroom and some unpleasant indigestion, he'd learned that stuffing himself on weekends was not an option, but that he could save some for later by dropping it in a bread bag. (Magical bags to store food likely existed, but he couldn't exactly ask Mizar to help him steal from the Black Family. Once he had money of his own, he'd get one.)

Mize was happily oblivious to Harry's train of thought. He had assignments on magic theory to do after lunch, and was wondering which order would be easiest. Harry had a worksheet from muggle school for taking the day off, and he wanted to finish that first. The paper felt jarringly displaced in a magical manor.

When Harry returned to Number Four, it was with a bag of cold potatoes and an annotated family tree of charms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe it is time for me to justify the name Harivald.  
> I am of the personal opinion that Harry's true name was to be Henry, following not only his great-grandfather but the pattern of recent male Potters having Anglo-Norman names.  
> Harry in this fic is of the opinion that if a name would raise no eyebrows in the muggle world, it is unsuitable for use by wix.  
> ‘Harivald’ has no recorded uses in history, but is derived from Harold's Old Germanic roots. 
> 
> Secular Paganism: Religion is arguably a codified set of practices that aid the survival of a community, for example most religions forbid suicide because if everyone went rushing on to the aftwrlife there'd be no one left to plough the fields.  
> So, the four celtic fire festivals have religious significance to some, and a more practical ‘the balance of the seasons makes magic stronger’ significance to others.
> 
> And of course, Quidditch!  
> I made at guess at broom release dates, and if they were released regularly, the 1700 would have come out the year after Regulus and Orion died. I doubt anyone would have been in the mood to buy a set.  
> Broom summoning is never mentioned after the first flying lesson, which is odd, so I'm taking the road that it's a useful but not essential part of bonding with a broom that can allow for more responsive flying. (Would you like it if someone demanded a piggyback without bothering to introduce themselves first?)


	5. The Wand Choses The Wizard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big timeskip into the chapter, just a heads up

The year 1991 found Harivald Potter with several reference notebooks detailing magical theory and a few on magical law, as a result of obsessively writing out everything he knew about the wixen world, time and time again. Knowing what awaited him was no longer enough to bouy him up through week after week of Dursley maltreatment.

Training his accidental magic provided some distraction. He'd only managed to properly fix two of Dudley's toys: a stag, and a shaggy black wolf. They now stood proudly on either side of his desk.

The rest of his test subjects had changed shape and colour, and even merged with one another. Harivald found he could focus on a single property to give his transfiguration, such as ‘pointy’ or ‘green’, but more complex shapes were still out of reach, and would probably remain so until he had a wand to focus through.

Noctem pecked his finger impatiently, reminding Harivald that the parchment before him that began 

_ Mize, _

and did not continue. He studied it a moment longer before adding

_ I'm bored like you wouldn't believe. I've started a calendar that counts down to the Express leaving. We've still got most of the year to go, and maybe it will just make me more impatient, but I'm starting to go mad in this house.  _

_ Speaking of houses, where do you think we'll be sorted? I feel like a Ravenclaw surrounded by all these notes and doing nothing. _

_ Write back soon,  _

_ Harry _

He rolled up the letter and gave it to Noctem, who clicked his beak as if to say  _ finally _ , before taking off through the window. Harivald was left alone to his life as a house-elf.

He wondered idly, as he washed Uncle Vernon's car, where he could get a house-elf, and whether it would be cruel to put one to work in a non-magical household. Probably, he lamented. Besides, being screamed at by Aunt Petunia would definitely constitute elf abuse.

Mizar's next letter arrived the following evening.

_ Harry, _

_ Grandfather wants me at Black Manor this weekend, and he's not opposed to you coming. I don't know what it is he wants, but I've had some practice reading him and I think it's a good surprise, so we have that to look forward to. _

_ Otherwise we can sneak the practice snitch indoors and you can embarrass me with how quickly you find it. _

_ I truly don't know what house I'll end up in. I do want Slytherin, because Grandfather didn't make a mistake acknowledging me and I want him to know that. _

_ What about you? I don't buy Ravenclaw for one second. Do you want Gryffindor like your parents, or has my family corrupted you? _

_ Your companion in boredom,  _

_ Mize _

Harivald grabbed a quill and wrote back quickly.

_ Mize, _

_ That's great news! Your grandfather is terrifying, but in a good way most of the time. I want to have that kind of gravitas when I'm older. (Only a posh word from an advanced vocabulary quiz can do Lord Black justice. I learnt it just for him) _

_ I don't need to be my parents. I want to be a son they can be proud of, but our muggleborn rights campaign will do that a lot better than trying to re-trace their every footstep. People already have expectations of the Boy-Who-Lived; setting them straight will be a nightmare. _

_ I predict you will be sorted into Hufflepuff. When you are, you owe me six liquorice wands. (Jelly slugs are also acceptable). _

_ Yours in assurance, _

_ Harry _

Saturday could not come fast enough. The Dursleys were still far too scared of the rich and distinguished Marius Black to deny Harivald a weekend trip, but they made up for it by forcing him to clean the entire house, then do it over when Dudley spilled his hot chocolate on the living room carpet.

_ Harry, _

_ When I am sorted into Slytherin, you owe me a packet of Fizzing Whizbees. _

_ Mize _

Harry didn't bother writing back to that one, knowing he'd see Mize in just a few minutes.

Sure enough, the sleek black car of the Blacks pulled up outside Number Four, with Mize inside.

“I take it back,” were the first words out of his mouth. “Anyone who willingly eats billywig stings is going straight to Gryffindor.”

“Ah yes. My courage is such that not even dead bugs can sway me from my goals,” Mize laughed and tugged Harry into the car.

Harivald settled down next to his friend, feeling some of his Dursley-induced-stress subside. 

“Good morning, Mr Black.”

“Good morning young Harivald.”

Marius Black was more family to Harivald than the relatives he lived with. Actually, Mizar's whole family, parents and Aunt Mitra (she was a better aunt then Petunia, let alone Marge), and Lord Black could boast that achievement, but it was Marius who had Harivald daydreaming up scenarios in which he and Mizar were blood cousins. Sometimes those dreams included a large black dog. 

From Highgate, they flooed with dignity to Black Manor, where Lord Black looked friendlier than usual.

“Mizar. Harivald. I have a surprise outing for you both.” 

The boys glanced at one another. Lord Black had never taken them out of the manor before.

“We shan't be flooing today. I had a portkey prepared.” He held out a length of golden rope — even disposable portkeys had to be grand in the House of Black, it seemed — and they each grasped onto it, being jerked out of the entrance hall and into an open-air courtyard.

Harivald looked around the very obviously magical environment, with wix popping into and out of existence on either side of them.

The shoppers parted for Lord Black as he led them into a street that could only be Diagon Alley. It was even brighter and louder than he had imagined, but looking around, Harivald began to feel nervous.

“Sir?”

Arcturus glanced back at him.

“I don't know if Mize told you, but… I don't have access to my vault. I haven't got any money.” The words trailed off into almost a whisper, and Harivald fancied for a moment that every shopper had turned to look at him.

When he dared to look up again, no one was watching at all.

“We will visit Gringotts and have that rectified immediately.” Lord Black swept off down the Alley so fast that the boys had to jog to keep up.

_ Harivald James Potter _ , he wrote on the provided parchment in his own blood.

The words glowed there for a moment, before vanishing

“That seems to be in order.”

The goblin, Snarlfist, dropped the parchment into a brazier. “All existing keys to your personal vault have been destroyed. A new one will be issued to you.”

Harivald blinked at the puff of smoke from the burned parchment. Could it really be so simple?

A small golden key appeared on the table between them. 

“Thank you, Mr. Snarlfist.”

The goblin grunted and slid the key towards him, so Harivald pocketed it and left with a respectful nod.

Twenty wixen galleons richer, Harivald emerged into the atrium of Gringotts where he met Mizar, flushed from the cart ride and carrying his own money bag.

Beside him, Lord Black had the same mildly disapproving look as ever. It softened slightly when it fell on him, Harivald thought.

“Now that that has been taking care of, it is time we move on to the purpose of this visit.”

The boys followed him back out into Diagon Alley, where the crowds had grown from early-morning shoppers to a full weekend cohort.

“This year,” Lord Black spoke effortlessly over the shouts of stallholders, “you will both be attending Hogwarts. Which means this year…”

They walked into a less trafficked part of the Alley, and came to a stop in front of a small, dusty shop. Harivald's eyes went wide, and he heard Mizar gasp.

“ …You can, for the first time, purchase your own wands”

_ Ollivanders: Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C _

As they stepped into the shop, a hush fell. This was a defining moment in the life of every young wix, and here they were.

“It's rather early in the year for wands, is it not? Unless of course  _ you _ desire one of my creations, Arcturus. Hippocampus fin, I recall. Not a very powerful core.”

“It serves its purpose,” Arcturus replied coldly. “The boys however, need wands.”

“Ah yes,” The man who had been speaking came into view between the shelves of wands, “another Black, of course.. and Mister Potter.”

Harivald staunchly refused to flinch at the sudden change in tone. 

“You look just like your father, you know. I sold his wand, too. Mahogany, eleven inches, an excellent transfiguration wand. Your mother, though, she matched a willow wand, swishy, lovely for charm work. And of course… I sold the wand that gave you that scar.”

“And now,” Harivald said as evenly as he could, “You will sell my wand, and the river of time will advance.”

“Quite right, of course,” said Ollivander agreeably. “Let's see now, which is your wand arm?”

Harivald held out his right arm, and Mizar his left. Two separate tape measures sprung to life from the counter and began to measure the boys while Ollivander brought a selection of wands to the counter.

“Mister Black, first. Blackthorn and dragon heartstring” Mizar took the wand, only to have it snatched away before he could lift it. “Not at all. Apple and unicorn hair” Harivald watched Mizar go through wand after wand of beech and vine and elm. 

“Try this one. Hornbeam and phoenix feather, twelve and a quarter inches.” 

Nothing happened for a moment, then a soft golden glow began pulsing about the length of the wand.

“Beautiful match. You will go a long way with such a wand. Oh, you can stop now.”

This last was directed to Harivald's measuring tape, which was diligently recording the length of each one of his eyelashes. It almost knocked his glasses askew flying back to the counter.

“Well, Mister Potter. Maple and phoenix feather, give this one a wave.”

Harivald had barely reached for it before Ollivander shook his head, and the process began all over again. Ebony and holly and cypress joined the pile of unsuitable wands, which seemed much larger than Mizar's had been.

“A tricky one, aren't you. Perhaps something a little more spontaneous… Ah, chestnut and phoenix feather, quite springy.”

Harivald grasped it, no longer expecting a match, but as soon as his hand closed around the handle, a shower of silver sparks cascaded around him.

“Bravo, bravo! A fine wand you have there, Mister Potter.”

The boxes of rejected wands made their way back to their shelves, leaving Harivald and Mizar's wands alone on the counter.

“Curious indeed. Wands made of phoenix feather are very selective. I can't say I've ever sold two on the same day before.”

The boys exchanged glances as they paid for their wands. Ollivander's words had the tone of a dire prediction, or maybe it was just the cramped shop full of dusty magic. They left fairly quickly.

Lord Black was waiting outside, and for the first time since Harivald had met him, he was smiling.

“In honour of the occasion.”

He was holding two wand holsters, the first bearing the constellation Ursa Major in a starry sky and the second— his breath caught. A collection of cinquefoils among ribbons might not seem special, but those same motifs appeared on the Potter Crest in the genealogy books Harivald had devoured, hungry for information on his ancestors.

Every time he drew his wand from this holster, his family would be behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have wands now! Harry's life doesn't revolve around killing Tom in this timeline so he gets a wand of his own.
> 
> I have based the Potter crest on the one registered to that name in our world, though it will have some differences (I imagine for example that it bears a cauldron) for the magical branch of the family.  
> There are three separate designs of the Black crest so I'm splitting the difference and having three crows at the base, seven stars of the top, chevron to divide them, and the whole thing supported by dogs.
> 
> (and yes, Mizar is in Ursa Major, hence that particular constellation on his holster)


	6. Fantastic Familiars and Where to Buy Them

Their first day as wand-bearing wizards wasn't over yet. At Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harivald bought himself a practice snitch that could have its range limited. It would buzz around his room, and if anyone noticed he'd say it was remote-control.

After lunch, Mizar dragged them to the Magical Menagerie to look at a new litter of half-kneazle kittens. Harivald hung back, memories of Mrs. Figg's house swimming to mind. He didn't dislike cats, but he wasn't going to surround himself with them.

Instead, he perused the tanks containing double-ended newts and horned toads. 

“I don't think I want a toad. They're traditional, but they don't do anything useful.”

“Toads have a use. They're tasty.”

Harivald glanced behind him for the speaker, but the reptile section of the menagerie seemed deserted.

“Over here.”

There was no one to the left or right either, but in one tank a vivid green snake ( _ Boomslang, shed skin can be used in potions) _ was staring at him with lidless eyes.

“Can you get me a toad? A fat tasty one?”

“Uh, sorry. I think the staff would get angry with me if I gave you one of their toads.”

“I'm going to sleep. Don't wake me unless there's food.”

Harivald stared as the boomslang curled up on its heated rock, and fell asleep. Boomslangs did not, as far as he knew, speak. In fact, boomslangs were not magical snakes at all, despite their uses potion-making. 

There was another explanation, but Harivald didn't fancy being cursed into next week by paranoid wix, so he firmly pushed it out of his mind, and went looking for Mizar.

Mizar had a new kitten. Its fur was pale cream, dotted with black rosettes and a pair of distinctly kneazle black ears. 

“This is Eos. They've nearly sold out her littermates already, you'll have to be quick.”

“I don't want a cat.”

Mizar looked momentarily aghast that anyone could say such a thing when confronted with Eos, and petted her ears comfortingly. “Don't tell me you're bringing toads back into fashion. I saw you browsing them.”

Harivald shook his head quickly. “None of them caught my eye. I was thinking about getting an owl of my own, instead of relying on Noctem all the time.”

He had been, on and off, whenever the Black owl pecked him for writing too slowly. It was a good distraction from the talking snake, because Lord Black agreed that an owl was vital to any wixen household, and took them to Eyelops Owl Emporium.

Noctem, belonging to Marius Black but used mostly by Mizar, was a rare melanic owl with jet black feathers and almost burgundy highlights. Harivald didn't truly expect to find anything so special for himself, so when he entered the shop to find the keeper wrangling an even more gorgeous bird, he could barely believe it.

“Excuse me, is that owl for sale?” 

“What, her?” The keeper glanced between him and the owl. “I suppose so. She's about to come off rotation after the Yule season, that's peak demand for snowies. But she's in the shop, so if you've got the money…”

“She's beautiful.”

The owl gave a pleased chirp and flew to Harivald's arm, where she began to preen herself. “...I'll take her.”

The owl was more expensive than he expected. Harivald began to wonder if he would need to visit his vault again to afford her, until Lord Black said there was no need for a new cage.

“Black Manor has owl cages and kneazle travel bags with far superior enchantments to anything you can buy pre-made.”

The owl, who had yet to be named, was content to ride on Harivald's shoulder, so the matter was settled.

“I like Hedwig.”

The potential Hedwig seemed to like it too, from the way she nibbled Harivald's ear.

They were sat on the floor in Mizar's wing of the manor, surrounded by various magical pet supplies the Black family had owned over the centuries.

There were, as promised, several owl cages to choose from. Harivald picked up a bronze vine-themed one, when his eyes alighted in a silver cage topped with a realistic snake. 

“Mizar.” He forced off his suddenly-dry tongue.

“Yeah?” In the other corner, Mizar was throwing an imitation pixie for Eos to stalk. It fluttered around while her tail twitched. Left, right…

“I might be a parselmouth.”

“Really?”

“There was a boomslang in the menagerie,” Harivald explained, watching the kitten's tail quiver, “It asked me to feed it one of the toads.”

Eos pounced, just clipping the pixie's wing as it doged.

“That's all? I thought snakes were supposed to relay deep wisdom to their parselmouth masters.”

Harivald shrugged. “When I said I couldn't feed it, it just went to sleep.”

Mizar snorted. “Fearsome.”

That pulled a grin out of Harivald for a moment.

“...I shouldn't tell anyone, should I?”

They sat in silence for a minute, mulling over the implications. Hedwig gave a gentle hoot.

“It's a talent like any other, but… know your audience,” Mizar concluded, sounding troubled. 

“Just something else we're going to have to change,” Harivald agreed. “What do you think of these vines, Hedwig?”

Hedwig hopped off his shoulder to investigate a curling bronze leaf, and chirped in agreement.

Mizar took the subject change well. 

“Go on Eos, pick a bag.”

The kitten padded across the selection, pausing occasionally to sniff, or paw at a bead. Eventually she settled down on a bag made from the skin of a Hebridean Black, decorated in gems the same purple as the beast's eyes. Mizar leant over to scratch her ears.

“You're turning into a cat slave,” Harivald moaned. “What's the counterspell to cat cuteness?”

“There isn't one.” The lights in the dark depths of Mizar's eyes glinted. “Say goodbye to your freedom, because tonight we strike, and tomorrow you will awaken consumed by love for little Eos.”

Harivald couldn't help but smile at the reminder. As if this day couldn't get any better, he would be sleeping over at Black Manor and not returning to Privet Drive until the following evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hedwig is essential to the life of Harry Potter.  
> I am working of the reasoning that they keep owls on display in the shop for a few weeks, then send them back to a reserve to fly arpund for a few months before their next stint on a shelf.  
> Also, kneazle kitties. I want one. There is no higher reason for their inclusion in this story.  
> Last but not least, Parseltongue. It had to happen at some point. As Harry said, just one more thing to change about their world.


	7. The Noble and Most Ancient Art of Dueling

The next morning, Harivald was not consumed by the overwhelming urge to worship Eos. He was, however, happy to see Hedwig perched on his headboard.

“Morning, girl.”

She hooted at him.

“I'm glad you're here too. It's not as much fun at the Dursleys, but Lord Black gave me that leg ring, so you can go flying when you're bored.”

The leg ring was charmed to disguise the owl that wore it. Anyone besides the owner of the owl and the person her letter was addressed to would see the most appropriate bird for the situation, which flying about London would be a pigeon, or perhaps a budgie if she was presented as his pet.

Hedwig hooted again, and nibbled Harivald's ear.

“Alright. I'll get dressed and we can find Mize and Eos.”

That got a disgruntled hoot in response. Hedwig disapproved of the kitten's clumsy energy, and tendency to pounce at her tail feathers.

“I know, but she'll grow out of it before we go to Hogwarts.” Time spent with Mrs Figg had given Harivald in-depth knowledge of cat life, and he knew that Eos would be close to a year old and growing out of kittenhood by September.

He got a friendly nip for that, and Hedwig flew to the dresser as if to hurry him on.

Harivald smiled watching her. “Alright, I'm coming.”

They met Mize on the stairs, with Eos in a sling around his shoulders. She mewed in greeting, which was absolutely not adorable. Hedwig chirped back politely.

“Harry! I was up all night wondering about it, and I think Grandfather might show us how to use our wands today!”

Mizar did not, in fact, look like he had slept at all. This wasn't completely unusual, if the number of letters that arrived in the middle of the night were any evidence. Harivald had learnt to leave the window open overnight for Noctem.

His hand went to the wand holster he'd worn to bed.

“We can finally do real magic… ”

“I know!” Mizar tugged his sleeve downwards. “The sooner we eat the sooner we can start!”

He thankfully let go before throwing himself down the staircase five at a time, but Harivald wasn't far behind anyway. He couldn't miss out on a chance to become stronger.

It turned out they were both awake too early for breakfast to have been cooked. After being shooed out of the kitchen with a respectful but firm ‘Sessie thinks breakfast would be going quicker if young sirs would be waiting in the dining room’ they were left with nothing to do but be impatient.

After an age which couldn't have lasted longer than a minute, Mizar flicked his wand out of its holster and turned it over in his fingers.

“How hard can it be?”

Rather than talk him down, as the sensible side of his mind demanded, Harivald drew his own wand. They'd studied the theory behind wand movements and incantations for years. How hard  _ could _ it be?

Harivald removed his glasses, cracked by a recent session of Harry Hunting, and placed them on the table in front of his wand.

“ _ Reparo _ ”

There was a sound like snapping in reverse, but the glasses remained sellotaped.

“ _ Lumos _ ”

Mizar's wand-tip lit up like a torch. He moved it closer to examine the glasses. “The right lense has been fixed, look.”

Harivald examined it. Under the wandlight the glass did indeed look smoother, free of the scuffs and cracks it had accumulated under Dudley's tender affections.

“ _ Reparo _ ,” he incanted, focusing on the glasses as a unit. The glasses gave another reverse-snapping sound.

Harivald gingerly unwound the sellotape, revealing the frame underneath to be in perfect condition. Under Mizar's wandlight, the glasses looked perfect like they hadn't since Aunt Petunia had dragged him to Boots and grabbed the cheapest pair off the shelf to satisfy his teachers’ concerns.

The glasses, now he thought about it, were the first thing that had belonged to him and him alone. 

Harivald slipped them back over his nose, and was surprised by how little his vision improved, even without the cloudy spots blocking it.

That was when Sessie walked in, floating several hot dishes behind her.

“Breakfast is ready, young sirs!”

Mizar extinguished his wand with a hasty  _ nox _ .

“Thank you Sessie, it smells lovely.”

“Yeah, Thanks, Sessie. Sorry for bothering you earlier.”

“Thank you, young sirs. Sessie hopes you will be enjoying your meal.” She vanished with a soft pop.

Casting their first spells had only made the boys all the more eager for further lessons, so they wolfed down their food quickly (Harry sliding a few sausages away for later) in anticipation of the day ahead.

Harivald was not surprised to learn that the Black Manor had a room dedicated to dueling. The stone walls were empty of portraits, and in their place reliefs of magical beasts in combat spanned floor to ceiling, exquisitely detailed.

“Of course,” Lord Black explained as he lead them in, “we would never use this room for our own grievance duels. The duel is a field of honour, and there is no honour in claiming such a blatant advantage.”

He handed them each a quill to practise levitating, while he explained the noble history of dueling, the correct way to initiate a duel (brandish the wand visibly and cast a stinging hex or other minor curse in a clear voice, when to call for a duel (sparingly, lest you gain a reputation as impetuous), and the role of a second (to set the terms of a duel and exact revenge should they be broken, such as by killing in a duel designated non-lethal).

“Do not engage in duels to the death. While we have the right to settle civil matters as we see fit, there is legal precedent for a murder conviction that your enemies will happily capitalise on.”

On that dire note, they began their first ever duel, limited for now to the stinging jinx  _ aculeus _ and the common anti-jinx, or parrying charm _ , deflecto _ .

Harrivald and Mizar bowed as they were shown, and faced one another on the duelling piste, wands in the ready position.

“Begin!”

Harivald threw his first spell as soon as he heard the call, and blocked another seconds later.

“ _ Aculeus _ !  _ Deflecto _ !  _ Aculeus _ !”

It was all in the reflexes. Letting your mind run ahead a few seconds so that by the time you had to block or return a strike you were already preparing the next one. Harivald was getting into a rhythm, throwing multiple jinxes at a time in different locations, when Mizar managed to send one of them not into the wall but directly at him.

Harivald didn't give up by any means, but with twice the amount of stingers to dodge he eventually got unlucky, and one grazed his leg, causing it to redden and swell.

The duel, which had been to first blood, concluded immediately.

“An acceptable display, for your first attempt,” Lord Black judged. He cast a quick healing spell on Harivald's leg before continuing.

“However no duel will ever consist of a single spell and its counter. A creative duelist might not even seek to curse his opponent directly. A summoned object may—” he flicked his wand, causing a torch to soar off the wall and hover in front of him — “provide defence against a spell, or be used —” with another flick he sent it across the room, smashing into a wall — “As a distraction. This has most use against powerful curses designed to break through shields, but the use of one's environment is an essential component of duelling I expect you both to begin learning from now.”

Harivald nodded eagerly. In the muggle world he was defenceless, but among wix he could become a formidable duelist. No one would bully him ever again.

Lord Black had him and Mizar practice fine control of the levitation charm to throw objects at one another, before they graduated to the knockback jinx. It was almost fun, even the bruises the flying stones left behind.

For these, Lord Black taught them the minor healing spell,  _ episkey _ .

For lunch, Sessie brought them pasties in the duelling room, and afterwards they moved on to more traditional offensive spells: Disarming and tongue-tying spells to limit their opponents casting power, and the body-bind curse.

Lord Black considered these, along with the general counter-spell, ‘adequate’ knowledge for young wix learning to use their first wands.

By the end of the day Harivald was exhausted, but considering he'd managed to disarm Mizar twice and paralyse him once, was happy to be so.

“Indeed,” said Lord Black, once Harivald had removed the body-bind curse, “it seems the old blood does run true. You've done well today, but do not let that be an excuse to stop learning.”

He gave them both a nod, and swept out of the room.

Mizar scrambled to his feet. “He mentioned summoning, banishing, and shield charms. We should learn those, and maybe some elemental conjurations for environment control, like ice for people to slip on…”

“Mize.”

“Harry?”

Harivald looked at him pointedly. Mizar frowned.

“You heard him. He's testing us. ‘The old blood runs true’…”

Harivald looked no more enlightened than before.

“Remember when we met, and I told you we were half-bloods and that made us different?” Mizar huffed in frustration, “Come on, I'll show you.”

“This is the Black Family Tapestry. It exists in every Black dwelling, not as a copy, it's just present in three locations at once. This is Grandfather,” Mizar pointed at a miniature likeness of Lord Black, labelled  _ Arcturus III _ , “and this is Grandpa and me.”

_ Marius (m. Sarah Holland) _ , looked oddly faded on the tapestry compared to his surroundings, like someone had spilled tea over just that one portrait.

“He was disowned. Look here.”

Mizar pointed to another part of the tapestry, where a  _ Phineas II _ scroll floated under a neat round burn. “Apparently when you blast someone off and try to fix it, they come back in grey.”

“Blast… someone off?”

“For being a squib, in Grandpa's case. For supporting muggle rights or marrying muggle-borns in others.”

Mizar looked back at Harivald, something close to desperation in his eyes.

“They weren't pure enough for the House of Black just by  _ associating _ with muggles. Harivald, my own grandmother was a muggle! Lord Black, Grandfather, he changed his mind about half-bloods because it was the only way for him to have an heir. He believes, now, that the Old Blood runs true, and that a bit of muggle heritage can pose no threat to a line so noble as the Blacks, but don't you see what that means?

I have to be perfect, Harry. I have to be the perfect Black heir because if I'm defective in any way it's proof that my mixed heritage ruined me, and everything I have, my family, my place in the world, my chance to change all those ingrained prejudices... it's gone.”

Harivald had no answer to that. He stood staring at Mizar, at the tapestry, at Mizar again. They'd talked about the war, of course. They'd talked about blood prejudices, but somehow he'd put it to the back of his mind as something from the past, something only people like Dudley, who had nothing better to do than pick on anyone who was different, would care about.

“When we met, I was looking for muggleborns to befriend. I wanted someone to arrive in the wixen world perfectly dressed and knowing our customs, despite not having a single magical ancestor. Just to prove there was no difference. Instead I found you, and you're my best friend, but you're part of Grandfather's test now too. I'm sorry.”

Harivald opened his mouth to say something, and shut it again. He wanted to say he didn't mind, that test or no it was still the best part of his life. He wanted to say there's still time, we can offer etiquette lessons to muggleborns we meet while school shopping. He wanted to tell Mize that it would all be okay, even if he didn't know quite how just yet.

He was saved from having to say any of it by an insistent  _ Meow! _ from the doorway. Eos pushed her way in and leapt at Mizar's knee, forcing him to catch her. Hedwig followed behind more sedately.

“You know when you're needed, don't you?” he told the bird, smoothing down her speckled white feathers.

Hedwig nipped his ear and hooted gently.

Mizar had cheered up quite a bit by dinner, but Harivald noticed that even when they returned to Highgate and drove back to the Dursleys he was holding Eos close. Harivald stroked Hedwig through the bars of her invisible cage, and wondered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well, that one ended on a sour note.
> 
> It had to be addressed though. Centuries of bigotry don't vanish overnight.  
> (It's easy, writing one of these wixen culture fics, to gloss over blood supremacist attitudes, or even end up reinforcing them)  
> Arcturus has made an absolutely radical decision by adopting Mizar and allowing him to befriend Harivald. It has its consequences.
> 
> On the plus side, they cast their first spells! (in their natural magics, no less)  
> Deflecto: I invented this. Many adult wix have trouble casting a shield charm that holds up to a malicious attack, so there probably is a simpler charm for it out there. It only deflects one spell per cast, but sometimes that's all you need  
> Aculeus: The stinging hex has no canonical incantation, so now it's the latin for thorn/sting.
> 
> I tried not to have them learn too many spells all at once, but in my defense Arcturus has high standards and only two pupils.


	8. The Letter.

Owning a wand meant more weekends at Black Manor to practice magic, since doing so at home risked setting off the trace. They didn't usually track wix before they entered Hogwarts, but persistent use of wanded magic in a muggle neighborhood would draw attention.

The practice was less frequent than Harivald would have liked but was, he quickly realised, infinitely more frequent than the average muggleborn or even most halfbloods would have the opportunity. Would they have practiced a single spell before their first class?

Harivald imagined stepping onto the Hogwarts express having never met Mizar, knowing none of what he knew now. The very concept was overwhelming.

He turned his eyes back to the bacon he was cooking for Dudley.

The letterbox clicked.

“Get the post, Dudley”

“Make Harry get it”

Harivald walked into the hall wearily, chanting  _ Hogwarts _ , _ Hogwarts _ , under his breath. In September he would be gone from here, not to return until next July.

He was so focused on his new school that when he saw the letter on the doormat, he thought it must be a hallucination, but he blinked and it remained lying there, addressed in green ink to  _ Mr H Potter _ .

Harivald hurriedly shoved his letter under the doormat (he would be the next to lift it, whenever Aunt Petunia made him clean the hall), and brought the muggle post back to the kitchen, heart pounding. They should have sent it by owl. What if Dudley had bothered to fetch the post? The Dursleys would be holding his precious acceptance letter right now. He was sure they wouldn't let him read it, let alone answer it.

As soon as Vernon and Dudley were distracted by eating, Harivald slipped out of the kitchen to retrieve his letter. With that hidden safely in his hand, he tiptoed up the stairs to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed, staring at the green-inked parchment with glee.

_ Dear Mr Potter, _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_ Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. _

_ Yours Sincerely, _

_ Minerva McGonagall _

_ Deputy Headmistress _

It was real. The letter was here in his hand, and it was real. Harivald took a fresh sheet of parchment and inked his quill.

_ Dear Professor McGonagall, _

_ Thank you for your letter. I eagerly accept the offered place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_ Please send a letter back with Hedwig if you require any other information regarding my attendance. _

_ Yours Sincerely, _

_ Harivald J. Potter _

It was fairly short, but so was the letter he had received, and he had been told to always respond in the same tone he was approached with. Professor McGonagall must have several responses to deal with, after all.

Then he wrote a quick letter for Mize, asking about school shopping plans, and gave both to Hedwig. With a hoot, she flew out through the open window, carrying his future tied to her leg.

It was hard for Harivald to pretend it was just another day. Judging by the frequency of biting comments from his aunt, she'd noticed he was happy and was doing her best to put a stop to it. Dudley might have picked up on the atmosphere too, or, thick as he was, he just wanted to use his new Smeltings stick on the only available target.

When his ribs began to ache from being poked, Harivald dropped a comment about the summer heat, and how cool it was in the house. Surprisingly enough this actually worked, and he was sent outside to weed for the rest of the afternoon. He'd have to thank Mizar for the idea later.

It wasn't until evening, soaked in sweat and developing a sunburn, that Harivald was able to check his letters.

Professor McGonagall had written back, enclosing his ticket for the Hogwarts Express, which Harivald carefully stored in his wand holster.

The second letter was from Mizar.

_ Harry, _

_ It's wonderful, isn't it? I've been making a list of all the old families that will have children in our year, and plan A is to get close with all of them. _

_ Plan B is to hex them, if they insist on remaining bound to their outdated views. _

_ There's no information on the new families, probably for the best when you think what such a thing might be used for. _

_ I've been thinking that maybe we shouldn't be calling them muggle-born. They're wix like us, before they're the children of muggles. A continuous scale of older to newer magical ties seems more friendly to the very newest families than a separate name. _

_ I'm working on that argument. _

_ Anyway, you asked about visiting Diagon for our school equipment. _

_ The back-to-school crush is worst the week after the letters go out, then dies off only to peak in mid-August when everyone remembers what they forgot last time. _

_ So we'll probably go late July, maybe even on your birthday. _

_ For your eleventh birthday you should see if the goblins will let you get something from your family vault to bless you off to school. Mine is a corvid pin and it's gorgeous (and eye-wateringly expensive I have no doubt). I don't know what the Potter tradition might have been, but something from your parents' wedding is common, while other families give more normal gifts like pets or books. _

_ We're going to Hogwarts! _

_ Yours in excitement,  _

_ Mize _

Harivald read it three times over, and pinned it to his calendar. The idea of having something that had belonged to his parents really did appeal to him, along with an underlying sadness that they wouldn't be there to give it to him, or wave him off on the Hogwarts Express. He had to admit, he was curious about the contents of the family vault that existed deep in the oldest part of Gringotts. His own vault simply contained his sizeable inheritance, but family vaults were for heirlooms passed down through centuries. Anything could be in there!

Finally he took out a sheet of parchment, and wrote:

_ Dear _

_ My name is Harivald Potter and I am the owner of vault number 687. _

_ I understand that following the death of my parents their vault was frozen until I come of age, and I do not wish to harass the bank over this situation. _

_ However, it is traditional for wix to receive a small gift from their parents upon starting school. Since my parents are not with me (indeed, I have no living relatives I would dignify with the term) a friend suggested I write to you about removing a single trinket from their vault to mark the occasion. _

_ If this is possible, or if there is anything I can do to make it so, I would be very grateful. However if it cannot be done I will understand. _

_ Yours faithfully, _

_ Harivald J. Potter _

_ Heir of House Potter _

Harivald examined the letter, careful not to disturb the ink. For all the information that existed on the tense history between wix and goblin, for all his lessons on etiquette, there was nothing that explained how best to interact with the bankers of Gringotts. He didn't know what titles they used, except that defaulting to the wixen  _ kær _ would likely be a bad idea.

In the end he wrote  _ Esteemed Banker _ , and added at the bottom.

_ P.S. my etiquette books are sadly lacking in information on how to properly address a goblin. My sincerest apologies if I have caused any offense. _

To his surprise, a response arrived the next morning on very formal-looking parchment, bearing the Gringotts seal.

_ Dear Mr. Potter _

_ As the primary signatory of the Potter Vault, it may be possible for you to loan a singular item valued at no more than 50 Galleons providing you do not sell or trade it without express permission of the vault owner (in this case, yourself at the age of seventeen). _

_ In order for us to allow this you must complete the enclosed forms. _

_ Please be aware that these forms contain several protection and truthing enchantments. If you sign any one fraudulently or go back on the conditions stated, you will be subject to undisclosed Gringotts anti-theft measures. _

_ If you do not wish to complete the forms under these conditions, simply return them to us unfilled, and this transaction will be terminated. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Varluk _

_ Vaults Manager _

_ P.S. There is little offence a wix can give a goblin that has not been given time and time again, but should you be interested, the main goblonic courtesy title translates fairly closely to ‘Warder’ in your tongue. _

The warning against fraud was repeated at the top of both forms. The first was about the circumstances that had the vaults sealed, which listed the five named stewards as  _ Unreachable, Imprisoned, Mentally Incapable, Deceased,  _ and another _ Mentally Incapable _ . 

The second was the terms of the contract. He could remove one item for personal use. He could not sell, trade, gift, or otherwise allow the item to leave his possession. Any loss or theft must be reported to Gringotts within twenty-four hours of occurring.

It was fairly simple, underneath the intimidating language. Having seen Uncle Vernon doing tax returns Harivald had expected a lot more parchment with a lot more writing. Goblins seemed to value efficiency.

Harivald read and signed both forms, feeling the tingle of a magical contract slip into place. Each one glowed and vanished, presumably back to Varluk for inspection.

All along Privet Drive, lights were flicking off for the night, but Harivald was more curious than tired, so he pulled a sheet of parchment towards him and wrote  _ Communicating with Goblins _ at the top, followed by what little information he had. Four notes, three of which were guesses. He'd have to write to Mizar for more information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reading back over this, it's a bit of an interlude chapter, isn't it?
> 
> Regarding Vaults: I do believe the popular fan-theory that the vault we see Harry use is his personal one, and a second family vault exists. We are told the Potter family has been around since the twelfth century, and for a significant portion of that time have been filthy rich pharmacologists. They do not have one medium-security vault and no heirlooms.  
> The family gold has probably been depleted during the war, so Harry's vault is the main store of Potter currency, but he has his family's stuff, and I think that's more important to him.


	9. The Vault of House Potter

On his birthday, Harivald slipped out of Privet Drive early to avoid his ‘present’ from Dudley, and waited on the corner of Wisteria Walk for the Blacks' car.

It pulled up after a while, and Marius looked out with an expression of mild concern.

“Is everything alright?

“Yeah, just Dudley being a spoiled brat.” he answered. The Dursleys were not going to ruin his day without even being here.

“That boy…” Marius shook his head. “Anyway, since I can't apparate, we'll be getting into the Alley via the Leaky Cauldron. Tom lets people change in the toilets.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, and climbed in next to Mize. They drove off in silence before he remembered. “You never wrote back about goblins”

“There was nothing to write.” Mizar chewed his lip, before adding “I mean it. There are the histories of goblin wars but those are about conquering, not diplomacy. I even found an in-depth analysis on how to  _ kill _ a goblin, but not one book describes how to talk to them.”

“So,” Harivald concluded, “No one cares enough to write it down.”

“That is, if they cared enough to find out in the first place.” Mizar pointed out.

The conversation moved on after that, but neither of them forgot about it.

The Leaky Cauldron made for a rather underwhelming border between the muggle world and the magical. It obeyed the laws of gravity, the sign over the door didn't move, and when they stepped inside it was dim and shabby. Harivald got changed quickly and met Marius and Mizar in the courtyard at the back, where the wall opened up to reveal  _ their _ world. Diagon Alley twisted away in a crowd of shoppers and magic.

The walk to Gringotts seemed to take hours,but at last they stood in front of the great marble building. It was no less impressive the second time around.

The goblin Harivald explained his visit to examined his key carefully and nodded. 

“We've been expecting you. Griphook!”

Griphook was yet another goblin, who led Harivald into the maze that was the Gringotts vaults. His own first, where he took out a generous handful of money (it would last him until next summer, after all), and then deeper down to where the old Potter Vault,  _ his parents' vault _ , lay.

This door had no keyhole. Instead, Warder Griphook stroked the door with one long finger, and it melted away.

Inside was mostly furniture, but the sort of carefully-crafted furniture Harivald had seen at Black Manor. There were empty portrait frames belonging to Potter ancestors, several tea-sets, and even a hippocampus fountain in the middle of it all. It felt rather sad, seeing the heart of a house locked up underground.

“One item of moderate value.” Warder Griphook reminded him from the door.

Harivald briefly imagined drinking pumpkin juice from one of the silver cups marked with the family crest, but dismissed the idea.

Mizar's piece was a crow pin, he remembered. Maybe there was something like that in here somewhere. Perhaps in one of the boxes labelled  _ jewellery _ . 

The first box he opened was far too fancy for everyday wear. The second would bring every bully in a hundred yards down on him for being ‘gay’. The third had earrings that wouldn't fit his decidedly un-pierced ears.

The fourth contained hair ornaments. Some of those were clearly made for longer hair than his unruly mop, but one…

_ My dearest Lily Flower. _

_ Hogsmeade was magical yesterday. See you again soon! _

_ Love, James _

The note was curled around a silver-rimmed ivory lily. Harivald turned it over and saw a flash of green from deep inside the bell. A cluster of emeralds winked up at him, the same colour as his eyes.

“Warder Griphook?” He called, still staring at the lily.

“Mister Potter.” The goblin replied.

Harivald showed him the flower.

“Is this one under my value limit?”

Warder Griphook glanced at it “Wix-made, the value is scarcely more than the sum of its parts. It's under.”

“Thank you. I'll be taking it.”

As they walked back to the cart, Harivald was still entranced by the hair ornament. Wix-made. Did that mean his father had made this, still giddy from a successful date at Hogsmeade?

Harivald resolved to wear it always.

The rest of their school shopping was, well, shopping. If it weren't for the constant background  _ Hogwarts, I'm going to Hogwarts _ , Harivald might even have found it dull.

They bought new quills and parchment, scales and telescopes and cauldrons. Harivald did pay extra attention in the apothecary, remembering that most of his family's notable achievements (until his, of not dying as a baby), had been in the potions sphere.

In Madam Malkin's, Mizar gave his measurements to the sales witch, and asked for a full Hogwarts uniform in those sizes.

Harivald, who did not receive a new robe every month, had no idea what size he needed.

“Just step through, dear, we've got another one being fitted up.”

Harivald glanced at Mizar.

“I'll find our books, and meet you back here?” he suggested.

“Alright.” It only made sense, but it left Harivald alone in the robe shop.

He hopped up on the fitting platform next to a blond boy.

“Hogwarts?” the boy asked, in a strong wixen accent.

“This time of year?” Harivald joked, “how ever did you guess?”

The boy laughed, and Harivald grinned back.

“What house do you think you'll be in?” Blond Boy continued.

“Wherever the Sorting puts me, I suppose. I'll do well anywhere, except maybe Ravenclaw.”

“Even  _ Hufflepuff _ ?” Blond Boy asked incredulously. “I think I'd leave before going there.”

“There's nothing wrong with being reliable,” Harivald shot back, thinking of Mizar. “I bet the world would fall apart without Hufflepuffs working on it in the background.”

“Well I suppose they're  _ necessary _ , but you wouldn't actually want to  _ be _ one, would you?”

Sensing that Harivald was unlikely to agree, Blond Boy cast around for another conversation topic. “Play quidditch at all?”

“I've got a practice snitch. Never had enough players for a proper match though.”

“I'm a seeker too!” The boy said, clearly happy to be back on familiar ground. “I'm planning to make Father get me a broom, I'm sure I could smuggle it in somehow. It's ridiculous that we're not allowed to have them, don't you think?”

“It is a bit,” Harivald frowned. “Do you reckon someone died flying?”

“No self-respecting wix could kill themselves flying. And if it was one of the  _ other _ sort, they shouldn't have been allowed in anyway.”

“The ‘other’ sort?” Harivald asked, straining for politeness.

“They're not like us. They haven't been brought up to know our ways. Imagine, they've not even heard of Hogwarts until they get their letters! Someone like that has no business in our world, don't you think? They should keep it in the old wixen families.”

“Personally,” Harivald said tensely, “I'm glad that  _ some _ people made my mother feel welcome here.”

He gazed at a point in the distance, studiously ignoring the blond boy until Madam Malkin said his robes were finished. Then he hopped down from the platform and left without looking back. So much for making friends.

Harivald glared at the textbooks he had to buy like each one of them was a stuck-up blond prat. The sight of Eos, poking two pointy black ears out of her Hebridean Black carry bag, made him wish Hedwig was the sort of animal who would accompany him to the alley. She was probably swooping around Surrey right now, catching mice to eat and not having to deal with blood prejudice.

Unless of course some British owls bullied her for being a non-native species, but Harivald thought owls were wiser than that.

Flourish and Blotts was the last shop on their list, so once they had bought the books, Marius took them both for an early lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.

When they entered, a  _ very _ large man was sitting at the bar, complaining about Gringotts carts. Harivald was personally surprised that a man that size could even fit in one of the carts, but it was the next sentence that really caught his attention.

“Very important Hogwarts business. ’M on a mission from Dumbledore ’imself.”

The boys exchanged glances, and approached the man.

“Excuse me sir, but we couldn't help overhearing…” Mizar began.

“Do you work at Hogwarts?” Harivald asked, when they had the huge man's attention. “We're both going in September.”

“Firs’ years?” The man squinted down at them. “Name's Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid. It's my job ter show yer ter the castle. Yer'll love it.” He smiled broadly, and any intimidation factor his huge frame lent evaporated in an instant.

Fortunately their food arrived before Harivald had to introduce himself in a crowded pub. The truth would come out at some point, but for now he rather enjoyed being anonymous.

Even the return to the Dursleys at the end of the day had a silver lining. Armed with his train ticket, a trunk of school supplies, and the horror Marius Black could wreak on Vernon and Petunia's reputations, Harivald proudly announced that he would not be attending Stonewall High.

“It turns out, my parents arranged for me to go to their old school. They covered the textbooks and the uniform and everything.”

He couldn't help it, he beamed at his horrified aunt. “And the best part is, it's a boarding school, in Scotland.”

Uncle Vernon was turning a funny shade of purple. Harivald ignored it.

“Hey Mize, can you help me get this trunk upstairs?”

The walk up to his room felt like a victory march.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Hogwarts Express!!  
> I was starting to feel a little held back by what they could accomplish pre-school.
> 
> Harry gets something of Lily's. She literally did a whole blood sacrifice for him and canon doesn't give her enough attention.
> 
> Draco is... Draco. Maybe he'll grow out of it.
> 
> Couldn't resist slipping in some Hagrid. I feel like I cheated Harry out of something by circumventing their canon meeting.


	10. All Aboard the Hogwarts Express!

Over the course of August, the Dursleys managed to convince themselves that boarding school in Scotland had been their own idea, and on the first of September, Uncle Vernon actually drove Harivald and his trunk (and Hedwig, safely in her invisible cage) to King's Cross. 

Of course, he left immediately afterwards without so much as a ‘goodbye’, but Harivald didn't expect anything different.

Mizar arrived a few minutes later with his own trunk and Eos curled up in her bag. Hedwig hooted at her, getting an ear-flick in return.

Harivald grabbed his trolley and fell into step beside Mizar, saying a quick ‘good morning’ to Mr. Black. They approached the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 in companionable silence.

A few feet from the wall they both came to a stop.

“They say to take it at a run.” Harivald said, not moving.

“They do.” agreed Mizar, standing equally still. “Together?”

“Yeah.”

They both regarded the brick wall.

“Let's go.” Harivald decided, breaking into a run before he could change his mind. Mizar matched his pace and then — they were standing on a platform distinctly unlike muggle Kings Cross. A huge scarlet steam engine exhaled gently over a crowd of students with trolleys and fussing parents. Much like Diagon Alley, the whole place was saturated with magic.

It was a hard crowd to manoeuvre through. Older students shoved past them to catch up with friends after the summer. Someone dropped a trunk trying to lift it into the train. One boy with dreadlocks had a tarantula in a box that he was showing to everyone around him, as several gasps and shrieks could attest.

Mr Black, peering through the windows, found them a carriage that seemed slightly less ram-packed than the others. They got the trunks aboard one at a time, each taking an end and hoisting it up into the carriage, before coming back for the next one.

“And this is where I leave you.” Marius Black said, once the business of the trunks was sorted. “Be good. Study hard, make connections, and don't forget to enjoy yourselves.”

He looked ever so slightly wistful, under his usual composure, and Harivald remembered that he was a squib. The expression quickly vanished, though. “Good luck, Mizar, Harivald. I know you'll both do brilliantly.”

They found an empty compartment, and after a second session of trunk-wrangling, they were settled in for the journey ahead.

Harry had just let Hedwig out to stretch her wings, when the compartment door slid open to reveal a gangly ginger boy, covered in freckles.

“Can I sit here? everywhere else is full.”

“Sure.” Harivald shrugged. “First year?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

The three of them didn't have much trouble lifting the freckled boy's trunk into the luggage compartment.

“So.” Mizar said, when they were all sitting down. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Mizar Black.”

The red-haired boy choked. “Blimey, not like…  _ those _ Blacks?”

“Like, and unlike.” Mizar replied, his eyes glinting.

“ _ Mize _ .” Harivald sighed and turned to the boy who was glancing between the door and his trunk nervously. “Don't mind him, he's a dramatist. I'm Harivald Potter.” He held out a hand as invitingly as he could.

The red-haired boy's eyes went wide. “Like…  _ the _ Harry Potter?”

Harivald sighed again, this one deeper than the last, and pushed his fringe out of his face. “Go on. Get it over with.”

To his credit, the boy seemed to sense his discomfort and only stared a little bit before coughing. 

“I'm, uh, Ronald Weasley, but everyone just calls me Ron.”

“Nice to meet you, Ronald.” Mizar said, earning another sideways look from the boy in question.

“You're not going to hex me? or call me a blood traitor?”

“I'm not a hypocrite. My life's goal is to further the rights of squibs, muggleborns, and recently non-human Beings. Care to join us?”

Ronald opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was “ _ Bloody hell _ ”

After a few moments of strained silence, Ronald brought out a deck of exploding snap cards, and they settled down to play. It was impossible to stay awkward in the face of exploded eyebrows, and the three boys moved into a state of friendly chatter.

“You've got enough brothers to play quidditch? that must be great.”

“I guess.” Ronald didn't look too convinced. “Nothing you do really matters, when you've got five older brothers. Bill was head boy, Charlie was quidditch captain… I could be both and it wouldn't be a big deal, I'd just be taking after them. I could get great marks, but Percy's already done that. I could break all the rules and make mayhem, but that's Fred and George…”

“You could help us fight for a more equal society.” Harivald suggested.

Ronald looked unconvinced.

“He's got a point,” Mizar said. “Take your own family. Magic derives from living things, right? So how can farming be un-wixen? Merlin, from what I've heard your mother is a traditional craftswitch! That's worthy of respect, high society be damned.”

“She made me socks.” Ronald said thoughtfully. “For Hogwarts. They've got enchantments woven in that keep my feet warm, stop me tripping, and keep them from getting wet.”

Mizar and Harivald looked impressed, and Ronald seemed to straighten up a bit.

“Yeah. Don't underestimate a Weasley.”

Of course at that moment the compartment door slid open to reveal the blond boy from the robe shop, flanked by two goons.

“I'm looking for Harry Potter, have any of you seen him?”

“It's Harivald, actually.”

The boy looked briefly startled, but regained his composure and extended a hand.

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Harivald gripped the hand just long enough not to be a deadly insult, but not quite long enough to be polite.

“That's Crabbe, and Goyle.” Malfoy continued, jabbing his thumb at his pair of bodyguards as he regarded the compartment. “No need to ask who  _ you _ are.” He sneered when his gaze fell on Ronald. “Father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

“And I've heard all the Malfoys have blond hair, pinched faces, and more pride than sense.” Mizar added, sounding unconcerned.

Draco rounded on him “Really? and who do you think  _ you _ are?”

“Mizar Black.”

“Oh, my mother was a Black,” Draco said, changing tone so suddenly Harivald got whiplash, “You simply  _ must _ join me in my compartment. Leave the Weasel.”

“I think  _ not _ .” Harivald stood, eyes glowing avada green “First you insult my mother, then you insult my friends, then you have the  _ audacity _ to act as though none of that ever happened without so much as an apology. Get out of my compartment.”

He pointed at the door.

Draco glowered. “You'll regret this, Potter.” He pivoted elegantly on one foot and stalked out, beckoning over his shoulder to his minions. “Come on Crabbe, Goyle.”

“Or don't.” Mizar offered. His lazy expression had gone from relaxed to haughty, but otherwise he seemed oblivious to the tension in the room “Do you two really want to tie yourselves to someone who's making enemies before the school year even begins?”

Crabbe and Goyle, whichever was which, exchanged glances, but followed Draco out of the compartment.

“Bloody hell” said Ronald, relaxing his grip from around his wand. “What a git. Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“It's no problem,” said Harivald, “and I think you should call me Harry.”

“My friends call me Mize,” added Mizar.

“Thanks, Harry, Mize. You can call me Ron, too.” 

Then he shook his head. “This is weird. Everyone calls me Ron anyway.”

“Not at Hogwarts, they don't.” Harivald said, thinking of his own situation. “It's a fresh start. You can keep Ron for friends and family.”

“It would make it mean something, if I did that.” Ron said thoughtfully.

Around lunchtime, Harry bought himself a couple of pumpkin pasties from a plump witch pushing a trolley. Ron apparently hated corned beef, but Mize and Harry didn't, and traded parts of their own lunches in return for his sandwiches.

The train trundled on through the countryside.

A round-faced boy poked his head into their compartment.

“Have you seen my toad? He escaped again.”

Ron and Harry murmured apologies, and even Eos hadn't smelt anything.

“Thanks anyway,” the boy said gloomily, and moved on, presumably to check the next compartment.

“Is she part kneazle?” Ron asked, looking at the now-awake Eos. Mize nodded and scratched her ears. 

“About as much kneazle as you can get in one cat without needing a licence”

“Wish I had a part-kneazle,” Ron said, “or an owl,” he added, looking at Hedwig, who had gone back in her cage to nap. “All I've got is Percy's old rat, look.”

He dug a balding grey rat out of one of his pockets, and dumped it on the table.

Instantly, there was pandemonium. Eos lunged for the rat, who moved surprisingly quickly for such an old creature.

“Eos! Bag!” Mizar yelled. The kitten paused long enough for him to scoop her up and return her to the carry bag, where she began to mew piercingly.

“I'll uh… put Scabbers away.” Ron shoved the rat into an outer pocket of his trunk. “He's useless, anyway. That's the most exercise he's ever done.”

With the rat out of sight, Eos quietened down, but her tail continued to twitch.

Once more the compartment door slid open, this time revealing a bushy-haired girl.

“Is everything alright? I heard a commotion.”

“We're fine,” said Harivald, while the other two were fussing over their pets. “Eos just got a bit energetic.  _ Reparo _ .”

His glasses fixed themselves.

“Oh, was that a spell?” The girl looked suddenly interested. “I've been practising too of course, ever since I got my wand, and I've memorised all the textbooks. I only hope it'll be enough! No one in my family's magical at all, so it was ever so much of a surprise when I got my letter. I'm really excited to be going to Hogwarts though, all the books agree it's one of the best schools of magic there is.”

“You'd never heard of magic until you got your letter?” Mizar asked.

“That's right. Professor McGonagall came round and explained it to us. She even turned into a cat!”

“In that case, Miss…”

“Granger. Hermione Granger.”

“Miss Granger, may I ask you a few questions? I'm working on reform for the rights of newer families within our society, and I'd love to have a muggle-born witch's perspective on our culture.”

“Culture? I thought it was just Britain, but with magic, and a bit old-fashioned.”

Mizar looked aghast. Even Ronald seemed surprised. 

“I've got a notebook,” Harivald offered. “I only brought it because I couldn't leave stuff about magic at home, but it explains everything I learned about etiquette and culture, and some laws too. You can borrow it.”

“Yes please!” said Hermione. “Oh I had no idea I was missing out on so much, that's terrible! I really wish Professor McGonagall had recommended a book on it.”

She took the bound sheets of parchment from Harivald and sat down on a seat to read at a blistering pace, occasionally muttering to herself and nodding.

“Ravenclaws,” muttered Ronald. “What house do you guys think you'll be in?”

“Slytherin.” Mizar said instantly. “I need to use the political clout of the Black family, and that means being sorted into the traditional Black house.”

“Slytherin or Gryffindor,” Harivald agreed. “I'm not studious enough for Ravenclaw, or down-to-earth enough for Hufflepuff.” As much as he'd defended Hufflepuff to Malfoy, and stood by what he'd said, Harivald had had enough of being normal and hard-working at the Dursleys. Hogwarts would be his chance to shine, to actually do something for himself.

“I don't know now.” Hermione said, briefly looking up from the book. “I thought I wanted Gryffindor after reading Hogwarts: A History, but the analysis you've done here doesn't sound like me. I suppose Ravenclaw is still an option, but while I like learning, I like using what I've learned more. I suppose I want whatever house will let me make the most out of my intelligence.”

“Blimey, you're all so serious about this. I just want to be in Gryffindor like the rest of my family,” Ronald said with a note of unease.

“There's nothing wrong with wanting to honour your family.” Mizar said firmly.

“You don't have to be like them to honour them.” Harivald pointed out.

Ronald looked even less comfortable.

“We don't have to choose, or at least, we don't have to choose alone.” Hermione pointed out logically. “That's what the Sorting is for. I wonder how they do it?”

“Fred said something about wrestling a troll,” Ron said, “But that's something Fred  _ would _ say.”

“Grandfather implied there was legilimency involved.” Mizar offered.

The sky outside the window was beginning to grow dark.

“I'd better go back to my compartment and change.” Hermione said. “It can't be far now.”

She passed the notebook back to Harivald, but he waved it back to her. 

“Keep it for tonight. I've memorised everything in there.”

“I'll take care of it!” Hermione promised, and left the compartment.

As soon as she was gone Ron began shrugging off his muggle clothes and pulling on his robes with an utter lack of concern.

Harry and Mize exchanged glances, shrugged, and did the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ew dialogue.
> 
> Yeah, I'm keeping the Squad in place, except now it's a sQuad
> 
> ~I hate it when people say Harry is too good for Ron. In this house we respect old farming families as much as we respect old noble families.  
> ~We need a muggleborn perspective on a muggleborn rights campaign.
> 
> Scabbers: Apparently Percy never encountered a half-kneazle while carrying Scabbers. Of course, if he kept the rat in a cage in his dorm that would be easier than if he carried the thing around everywhere.  
> Eos is still a kitty, she's like ten months old. She listens to Mize when he tells her to stop hunting, even if her instincts are going haywire. Meanwhile she's adorable, making Ron not want to hate her.  
> Ron also isn't very attached to Scabbers yet. He never bit Goyle, and in Ron's mind he's still Percy's rat, not his.


	11. Chapter 11

Night had fallen by the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade station. Harivald, Ronald, and Mizar left their trunks on the train as instructed and stumbled out onto the dark platform.

“Mr Hagrid said he'd be taking us up to the castle…” Harivald said, looking around for the enormous man.

As if on cue a lantern appeared, bobbing high above where a human could reach, accompanied by a gruff voice.

“Firs' years! Firs' years this way!”

They, and several other of the smallest students, flocked towards the light like robed moths while Mr Hagrid continued to call out.

Once there seemed to be no more first years struggling to navigate the platform in the dark, Mr Hagrid and the Lantern made their way out of the station and down a winding path that felt like an initiation rite. Harivald stretched his senses for the tingle of magic that marked the generations of young wix who had walked this route into the safe haven of Hogwarts.

“Yer'll be gettin' yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a minute!”

The entire convoy held their breath as they rounded a hill, and came upon the castle itself. Tower after tower rose up over a shining black lake, each one rising and twisting more like a living thing than part of a simple building. Awed murmurs travelled back through the crowd.

At the base of the cliff they piled into a fleet of small boats which Mr Hagrid sent gliding across the lake until they were underneath the castle, gazing up at the impossibly high walls wreathed in ancient magic.

“ _ Bloody hell _ ,” said Ronald with feeling. 

“It's nothing like the pictures.” Hermione agreed

“This is the heart of Wixen Britain.” Mizar said in awe.

“It's  _ home _ ,” said Harivald.

They were met at the underground dock by Professor McGonagall, who turned out to be a severe-looking witch with a tight bun and bottle-green robes. She led them up the stairs, across what must have been the entrance hall, but avoided the doors through which chatter was drifting and instead lead them sideways into a separate room.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said, once they were gathered in the smaller room. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Harivald and Mizar flicked their wands from their sleeves and cast  _ vesteo _ , the robe-straightening charm.

Hermione, of course, wanted to learn it too, so they ended up teaching her and Ronald.

“It's a sweeping motion for the fall of the cloth, but it has to be done sharply to make the creases come in right, otherwise the whole robe sort of sags,” Harivald was explaining, when a small fleet of ghosts drifted through the back wall, startling several of the now quite jumpy students.

Harivald recognised the Bloody Baron of Slytherin, drenched as he was in pearlescent blood, regarding the crowd with an unreadable air. Hufflepuff's Fat Friar, on the other hand, was mingling with the students, welcoming them to Hogwarts and inviting them to his old house.

When the ghosts vanished through another wall, Professor McGonagall returned.

“Move along now.” She said crisply. “The Sorting Ceremony is about to start.”

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was, in a word,  _ great _ . Four tables stretched the length of it each picked out in house colours and packed with students. Hermione was whispering excitedly about the ceiling  _ ‘I read about the enchantments in Hogwarts: A History, but it really is like being out under the sky’ _ . In front of them was a single wooden stool, and on top of it, an old hat.

Then the hat began to sing, describing each house's qualities. Are you brave, loyal, intelligent, or cunning?

Harivald didn't know. What if he didn't fit in any house? He'd have to walk around, housless, an outcast once more…

“When I call your name you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.” Professor McGonagall said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

She went to Hufflepuff, and all too soon Professor McGonagall was calling out ‘Black, Mizar’

_ Mizar stepped forward cooly, and placed the sorting hat on his head. _

_ “ah, a strong sense of fairness I see. Helga would love you” _

_ Under the hat, Mizar wondered how being in Hufflepuff would affect his standing. He didn't believe his grandfather would disown him, especially if he explained the sorting as loyalty to his family, but that would be the bare minimum. He needed to negotiate with the old families as a Black. To do that he'd have to prove himself… take control of Hufflepuff first, then they'd pay attention… _

_ “but not quite” the hat broke through his thoughts “You don't just want to be fair, you want to smuggle fairness into the oldest parts of society under the socialites’ noses. And that is very much —  _

“SLYTHERIN!”

The green table cheered a Black being added to their ranks. Mizar slipped among them, his regal bearing making him blend in perfectly with the older students.

“Crabbe, Vincent!”

_ The first of Malfoy's goons lumbered up and set the hat on his head. He was frowning intently. _

_ “I dunno about Draco anymore. But I know I'm strong.” _

_ “Confident of you. Let's see how you do in —  _

“GRYFFINDOR!”

That caused a murmur among the older students, even as the younger Gryffindors welcomed him obliviously.

The murmur renewed and doubled when ‘Goyle, Gregory’ followed his double to the lion's den.

Then it was the turn of ‘Granger, Hermione’

_ Hermione sat under the hat and considered her options. Ravenclaw was still her fallback, but it didn't satisfy her desire to be doing something. _

_ “Tell me, Miss Granger. You are fighting a war when you are struck by a spell intended to strip you of your talents. Your friends get you to a healer. It's too late to stop the spread of the spell completely, but the healer can contain it so it destroys only one talent. Would you rather keep your martial prowess, or your sharp mind?” _

_ “Can't I lose something else? like my ability to speak French? _

_ “The spell was targeted on talents relevant to the war, which is not being fought in France. Choose, Miss Granger.” _

_ “Then… I'll lose my martial prowess. I can still help as a strategist, and I'll be searching for a counter-curse. There has to be one.” _

_ “Very pragmatic of you, Miss Granger. In that case I say —  _

“SLYTHERIN!”

Hermione placed the hat back on the stool, and walked over to the Slytherin table. The applause wasn't as heartfelt as it had been for Mizar, and more than a few students were sending curious glances her way. She sat down with her best posture next to ‘Davis, Tracey’ and was soon joined by ‘Greengrass, Daphne’.

The sorting continued. ‘Longbottom, Neville’ sat under the hat for quite some time before being sent to Gryffindor, while ‘Malfoy, Draco’ was sent to Slytherin as soon as the brim touched his hair. And then — 

“Potter, Harivald!”

The hall swelled with excited whispers as students figured out his nickname. They'd all been watching the Sorting before, but somehow now their eyes seemed to laser-focus only on him.

_ Harivald took a seat on the tool and placed the hat on his head. His best friend had been sent to Slytherin, and so had someone who declared him an enemy a few hours ago. _

_ “You could be great there.” the hat said, picking up on his thoughts. _

_ “Would it make my parents proud of me?” _

_ “I don't know. I'm a hat. But whatever it is you want, you can make it happen in Slytherin.” _

_ “Fine. I'll take it.” _

“SLYTHERIN!”

He made his way to the table under intense scrutiny from all sides. Even the staff at the high table seemed to be glaring down at him, judging.

Well, let them judge. He was going to take the hat at its word and change the world from Slytherin. He sat down next to Mizar at the Slytherin table, and silently dared anyone to say a word.

‘Weasley, Ronald’ was one of the last to be Sorted.

_ Ron gathered his pride and sat beneath the hat, still conflicted after the discussion on the train. _

_ “Ah, another Weasley eh?” _

_ “Not just another Weasley” he snapped back. “I'm Ronald” _

_ “Is that so? you want to prove yourself, apart from your brothers” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “So be it Mr. Weasley, _

“SLYTHERIN!”

There was a loud ‘WHAT!?” from the Gryffindor table.

Ronald tried to smile reassuringly at Percy, who seemed just as shocked as whichever twin had shouted. He headed to the Slytherin table in uneasy silence, with only Harry and Mize clapping for him. Slowly, some of the first year girls and the older Slytherins joined in, but he was rather glad when it was over and he could just sit with his friends.

This would take some getting used to.

The Sorting concluded soon after, with ‘Zabini, Blaise’ also in Slytherin. Headmaster Dumbledore said a few words (nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak), and the Welcoming Feast began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sQuad are now Slytherins.
> 
> I thought a lot about this. A friend suggested I put each one in a different house, which I wanted to do for a while, but it would make having adventures together a logistical nightmare.
> 
> So it came down to Gryffindor or Slytherin, and snakes won. Sorry for putting you in an awkward situation, Ron.
> 
> Crabbe and Goyle go to Gryffindor. Admittedly this was mostly to keep the number of Slytherin boys balanced, but the more thought about it the more I liked it.  
> They're not very cunning, are they? they go to Slytherin because they admire Draco, but if I break that admiration a bit, what they really are is two guys who don't care how hard the task in front of them is as long as it's simple, believe in their own strength, and find fighting comes naturally. That's a pretty Gryffindor outlook.  
> Also considered dumping Theo and Blaise in Ravenclaw, but that didn't lead to any interesting implications, so I left it. Draco still needs a gang, even if they aren't complete minions this time around. Who knows, maybe being surrounded by equals will make him grow up faster.


	12. The Dungeon of Serpents

“So, Black.” Drawled Theodore Nott, once everyone had a serving on their plate. “We’ve not heard from your family in a while. How are they doing?”

“Much better now.” Mizar replied pleasantly. “We've had some realisations, made some changes, and the House of Black is ready for a new era.”

“What about you, Weasley?” Malfoy cut in. “Finally realised that hovel of yours isn't fit for a real wizard?”

Ronald looked up from his chicken. “Our house is just fine, thanks. Why, is your manor supposed to compensate for something?”

“The hat must be going senile, letting someone like  _ you _ into Slytherin.”

“It’s the house of ambition, Malfoy. Not the house of riding daddy's coat-tails. Maybe you're the one who was sorted wrong.”

Even a couple of second-years had taken interest in the almost-fight that was brewing between the two boys.

“On the subject of surprise sortings,” Daphne Greengrass broke in diplomatically, “I don't believe anyone expected to be seeing The Boy-Who-Lived at our table”

Harivald decided to keep his explanation simple. “I have two wonderful parents to honour and avenge. Apparently that's a Slytherin enough desire.”

“A noble one, too.” Agreed Greengrass.

The introductions soon devolved into a contest between Nott and Malfoy about who was the richest and purest of the two, so Harivald used the distraction to store himself some food for later. He'd finally managed to buy a proper bag for it, which would allow him to store any food he wanted without creating a mess. Harivald even managed to slip in a slice of treacle tart before the desserts vanished completely, and Professor Dumbledore stood up for another speech.

This one was coherent, if boring. Professor Quirrel would be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Caretaker Filch had a list of banned items. The Forest was Forbidden.

“...and lastly, the third-floor corridor on the right hand side is forbidden to all who do not wish to die a very painful death.”

That was heard by everyone, even the few who had begun to doze off.

“What do you think it is?” Harry asked Ron and Mize as they followed their prefect into the dungeons.

“Dragon?”

“Experimental curse residue?”

They both stared at one another.

“Why would someone have a dragon in a castle?”

“Why would someone be doing magic dark enough to leave deadly residue in school?”

“Experimental spells?” said Mizar. “There are things in Black Manor you're not supposed to get too close to, or your blood starts turning into acid.”

Ronald looked alarmed. “I just thought… Charlie swears down they use dragons to guard Gringotts vaults. Maybe Dumbledore borrowed one?”

“For what?” Harivald asked.

No one had an answer to that.

The Slytherin common room was hidden behind a nondescript stretch of wall in the dungeons. The password was  _ Ascendant _ . 

“It changes every two weeks, so make sure you check the noticeboard.”

The Slytherin Dungeon had a mysterious and noble air. On one wall there was a long window looking out into the lake, while the others were hung with tapestries. One showed a man with a snake who could only be Salazar Slytherin, and another…

“Yes!” Gemma Farley, the prefect showing them around, pointed at it with pride. “Merlin himself was in Slytherin. On these walls you see the wix who were in this noble house before you, and went on to do great things. Take inspiration from their stories! and remember, snakes look out for their own. Every one of you have been recognised as having the seeds of greatness. It doesn't matter where you come from, because we know where you're  _ going _ .

“Dormitories are through that archway. Boys and girls separately, please. Your trunks will be delivered to your rooms”

The archway she pointed out seemed only to contain a small alcove, but when they entered it they found themselves in a new corridor, with more tapestries decorating the walls, and a smaller common area at the far end, once more looking out onto the lake.

Along each side of the corridor were doors with blank nameplates. Mize grabbed a doorknob, and instantly the words  _ Mizar Black _ calligraphed themselves onto the plate.  _ Harivald Potter _ soon appeared on the door next to it, and  _ Ronald Weasley _ hastily claimed the last door on that side.

Harivald's room was fairly small, presumably to encourage socialisation in the corridor common area, but it had a bed and a desk. The walls were plain, but about three-quarters of the way up they changed from castle stone to clouded crystal to clear glass, making the entire ceiling a window out into the lake. Harivald stared up at it watching the darting shadows of fish until he began to get a crick in his neck.

Evenings had been Harivald's organisation time since he had a bedroom of his own, so he began unpacking his trunk.

Hedwig's cage stayed where it was for now. He'd have to ask how to keep an owl in a room without a window tomorrow. Leaving his familiar in the school owlery was not an option.

Next, he placed the two animal figures he'd managed to fix by accidental magic on his bedside table. The dog and the stag gazed back at him with plastic faces he always fancied held a friendly expression.

His books were placed on shelves by subject, and his clothes were stored in the dresser.

His practice snitch was free to buzz around the room, reflecting the green flames inside the lanterns. With that, Harivald's room looked decidedly his own.

He liked it better than his room at Privet Drive already.

The was a second door, separate from the one he had come in by, that led to a bathroom. Judging by the two other doors, it was shared, and Harivald was glad his room neighbours were his friends. Sharing a bathroom with Draco Malfoy sounded stressful.

Harivald brushed his teeth at one of the sinks and returned to his four-poster bed. He slowly dressed in his pyjamas, admiring the view of the lake. The last thing he removed was his lily, which he lay to rest on the bedside table, under the watch of his animals. When Hedwig was here, it would be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, mostly a welcome to Slytherin
> 
> I imagine that each founder designed their own house, and while Gryffindor and Hufflepuff thought their students would love the sociability of shared dorms, Ravenclaw and Slytherin both agreed that an enclosed personal space is necessary for sanity.
> 
> Hedwig: Sorry girl, you're sleeping in the owlery tonight. I do have a plan though, don't worry.
> 
> I may, some day, actually draw my Slytherin dorms concept. Drawing environments isn't usually my thing though, so it may take a while to get anything shareable.
> 
> And the boys share a bathroom, which totally won't become a Secret Plotting Space.


End file.
